The Ghost Client
by fallenfaeangel
Summary: Clara was dead and her hope for life or closure is left to the one and only consulting detective. While she is invisible to the world she sees it all, by the end she is going to either make Sherlock want to kill her again or laugh and appreciate her. And she was already dead. Sherlock/OC eventually. The goal is murder mystery, light morbid humor, and non-mary-sue love.


AN: Let me quickly clear a few things up, through means that I am going to try and not make totally cheesy and annoying, Clara will, one day, become living, sorta. Also, this is being placed AFTER Sherlock jumped, but totally disregarding season 3. I may end up making it slightly more canon later, I don't know. John is single, Sherlock is back in his life, and they are in a fairly patched up friendship. And life goes on. And now the story starts.

Xxx xXx

My name is Clara Miner. On the first of April, 2000, I died. Well, I think I died. All I know is that day in and day out is the same thing happens in my little area of London minus when a totally different world blends in. And the worst part is, I can't remember the day before this all started to repeat. Which is why I led myself to the conclusion that I am dead.

I guess it would help to know my story, or at least what I can give of my story. In 2000 I was nearly 25 years old. I was an American hoping to start a new life in London, freshly finished my internship and gotten all my qualifications as a coroner. Which I am sure is dreadfully ironic with the whole 'me being dead' thing. Except lately things have been changing. Well, lately as in the past year, and no one sees them but me in my little makeshift piece of the world. I think it is the living world leaching through. Then again the people around me aren't really people but constructed from my memories.

I walked down the stairs a month ago and once again greeted my landlady, Mrs. Hudson and her husband, the low life that he is as I walked out the door. Except initially when I saw her the middle aged Mrs. Hudson seemed to age by ten years before my eyes before being herself again after I blinked. Though in that split second it was just her, and she seemed to be staring at me in shock, which did finally confirm I am well and dead. For a while nothing changed again, though to be fair most time is an estimation when you are dead. I did what I always do, I did the long walk down to Saint Bart's, at the very edge of my range. It was always weird when I walked out of my area, I just walked back into my apartment building.

Another change was walking into my apartment and again and again it would be a messy place that looked to be a scientists hovel. It did have a certain feel to it. I don't know who lives there yet, but I do know it is male, he solves murders, he sometimes caves to drugs to cope, and he is very smart.

The place I notice the changes the most are at the morgue, I figure it is because it houses the dead. The objects change place, bodies come and go. I do get small pleasures when I can see the other side. There is a girl I can see fairly often, I assume because she is in the weak space so much. A male is also starting to fade through, but I see him a lot less.

Wait, I was talking about small pleasures. Sorry, holding a train of thought in the after life is hard at times. The dear girl who I watch is called Molly Hooper. She is also a bit klutzy. One of my favorite things to do is toy with her. Yesterday she knocked off a cup with pens and pencils in it, I picked them up and put them in the cup back on the table. It is always fun to watch her pale, rub her eyes and mutter to herself declaring that 'that man' was driving her insane.

I typically avoid the people that are stuck in my dead-world. They aren't real, they are just constructed from my memory for me. I have to assume that my death was tragic for me to hold on to these fake people. I don't know what to expect at this point in my life, in my un-life….fine, death. If I should accept this endless cycle, should I strive to move on, or should I fight to maybe force my way back into the world of the living breaking all forms of logic? To be truthful, I don't want to be dead. I didn't really get the chance to live yet. Then again I suppose no one wants to be dead.

I bitterly walked to the ground floor of the hospital smiling at the nurses slightly as they passed me by and greeted me. I scowled slightly as a voice called out as I almost reached the exit and the part of me that seeked normalcy forced me to turn around and flash a smile.

"Hello Sammie." I said to the short blonde woman who bounded up to me.

"Hey Clara, done figuring out the dead?" She said with a grin that had way too much energy.

"No, just done seeing what ways would allow me to get away with murder." I said passively watching her grin drop down to a small forced one.

"O-oh?" She asked hesitantly. "Why would you need to know that?" She said she looking like she was ready to dart.

"I am dead Sammie. I need to find my murderer but I have nothing to go on really. Thus, I need to know how he could avoid being tracked so I _can_ track them. What else am I supposed to do in this endless hell hole?" I said, muttering the last part.

A comforting awkward smile settled on Sammie's face as she reached out a hand as if to console me. "You know, maybe you have been working too hard lately. Why don't you go home and rest? If you don't feel out of this dream state tomorrow we can see about addressing it okay?" She said in a tone fit for a small child.

I shrugged off her hand angrily. "I am not mental. I am not a child. I am not just 'overtired'. You are a figment in this twisted world. I am DEAD, Sammie. Murdered. Leave me alone." I said reaching the end of my limit and leaving the still comforting old-friend in her place. I was tired of this facade. Faking my way day to day to try and _maintain_ my sanity seemed to actually be counter productive. In a split decision I decided to try and reach out to the living more, I couldn't solve my murder in the afterlife. I couldn't go and find my body….or body parts….or ashes. Honestly I wasn't sure what I was now. All I know is that I learned all I could personally and I could no longer pretend. I needed to reach out.

I walked briskly home ignoring the same people that I saw day in and day out and entered my home and froze after closing the door. Before me had all changed, the wallpaper, the age, the overall feel. Never had the transition happened on such a scale before. I hesitantly walked up the stairs, marveling how my hand met a greater resistance without effort on the railing instead of me having to waste extra energy. I walked into my room on the second floor and froze. The man that I saw at the morgue now and again was there. And solid. I sat in the armchair across from him and leaned forward putting my head in my hands as I watched him with his fingers steepled before him. I don't know how much time had passed, as it was when you didn't actually HAVE physical needs anymore time sort of just...passed.

I jerked up when he suddenly spoke. "Who are you?" He asked in a demanding tone. "A client? No, can't be. Your clothes and hair suggest you don't want to let go of the 90's, but how you hold yourself suggests that you are comfortable and feel like you are up with the times. Roughly 25 years old, work in a hospital in some manner, are frustrated with trying to figure something out, but you aren't here as a client. You look surprised I am talking to you, what I want to know is why?" He rattled off in a neutral tone. I stared at him and blinked in surprise.

"It can't be…" I muttered in shock. "You can _see_ me? Like, 100% see me?" I said in wonderment.

"Of course I can see you? Why wouldn't I? Are you suffering from a mental deficiency? You don't appear as the typical type with your proper grooming habits to have such though I suppose those are harder to spot." He said pulling back in confusion looking me over.

"Because I am _dead_." I stressed staring at him.

He looked up in frustration, "Of course. Crazy. How boring." He said before seeming to mentally dismiss me.

I stood up outraged, "I AM dead." I seethed angrily.

"Yes, yes. Of course you are." He said dismissively.

"What would it take to convince you I am dead?" I said gritting my teeth.

He released a bark of a mocking laugh, "Walk through the chair, slit your throat and live, walk through me. All things you will find yourself unable to do. Though I would request you don't attempting slitting your throat in my apartment, makes a terrible mess." He said before starting to tune out again.

With a frustrated sigh I calmed myself. "Fine," I said calmly. "Look at me." I ordered and snapped my fingers until he turned his eyes to me with a bored stare.

"Fine, go ahead, convince me." He said waving a hand. I ignored his dismissal and concentrated for a moment before walking through the chair. I smirked as he jerked sitting up as his eyes widened. He leaned back as I approached him before walking through him causing him to shiver in a natural response before turning and going to his kitchen and grabbing a knife. I walked back in front of him and kneeled before him before running the knife across my throat which did not cut, nor bleed, or do anything at all but pass through.

"Are you convinced?" I whispered to him and smirked slightly as his pale expression.

"This is not possible. If this happened there would be more stories, science…" He started muttering trying to make sense of what he saw before him.

"There are, but it is incredibly hard to prove. So many excuses thrown about. You saw it with your own eyes. I. Am. _Dead_." I said blandly waiting for it to sink in. I saw how his skin stayed pale and a slight tremor formed in his hand. "Are you afraid?" I asked softly with a small smirk.

"Yes." He said simply in shock as his brain tried to make sense of it all.

"Good." I said softly before concentrating so I would appear leaning over his chair from behind with my face next to his ear, "Boo!"


End file.
